Under Grey Skies -- Relaunch
by BonJiro
Summary: [A rewrite of the original, which will end with a bonus Epilogue.] When Zelda wrestles with her decisions concerning her country's welfare, she comes to accept that she is a trophy of war. But are trophies not kept to be admired? Wisdom beckoned she act, and every minute that rolled by convinced her... there was far more that could be done with her role than what the legends told.
1. Prologue

_1: Prologue_

A thunder storm ravaged the country of Hyrule.

For hours longer than she cared to count, a deluge of rain had come hammering down to drench the world. The threatening rumble of the skies seemed to make the earth quiver beneath as each flash of lightning crackled down from the firmament to sear the soil. A frigid gale blew, tempest tossed to roar and hiss like a scornful god, and to pointed ears especially it would serve as the first warning from the divine.

The cold stone within the castle would produce no warmth against the harsh night raging outside, as the echo of thunder rolled against every wall to threaten. This was particularly true of Zelda's keep. The high tower held only the mourning Princess and a dim fire, struggling to warm the dreary chambers, and by sheer luck alone provide the scant light her eyes required to read by.

Sitting close to the embers, resigned to a wooden chair, she sat scouring a leather-bound tome for the little comfort it could afford her. Flipping through the pages of history, old legends and tales of heroes would lend her strength, whispering quietly of better fortunes to come. Zelda borrowed from them the fortitude to endure her imprisonment with grace and sanity, stoically depending upon the pattern she found within its pages.

Ever faithful, she knew the Goddesses' design, and resolved to wait patiently for the day her own hero would arrive.

But as the days had rolled on, the Princess was slowly coming to accept that their timing would be closely matched to that of a powerful rival. His presence was already thick upon the air, like a foul stench she couldn't place, seeming to seep from the very walls to add malice to the already bitter cold.

Sentience could nearly be traced of the weather, for no sooner did that notion sweep her heart again with worry, lightning would cleave the sky beside her window closely. Like a cracking whip it struck her to flinch, her frail form illuminated by its momentary glow as breath hitched in her throat. That awful shiver of premonition crept through her once again and she sighed, closing the book and turning her crystalline gaze toward the weary fire.

___Perhaps the Gods are angry with my decision? _

It flashed through her mind to match the lightning, though with a light shake of her head it too had faded.

She had never held a choice in the matter. This sorry state of affairs was the only mercy she could give her people, lingering in the bleak half light to fear a nameless evil, but she had ensured they lived yet. None of the spirits below realised their true position—how close to destruction they had come—and Zelda prayed that none would ever figure it out. For the moment, they were unharmed, and of that she claimed some success as a leader.

Order could be restored in time, and her people could be spared the knowledge of most of its absence. Delicate brows furrowed as she remembered the day darkness had fallen with pathos.

Adjusting the cloak around her fragile form, slender fingers gripped the dark fabric tightly to hide herself further within its folds. A sombre expression took over her delicate features as pale lips moved, weakly mouthing the ultimatum a usurper had said to her only a week before.

"Surrender or die."

This was the only mere thing she held the power to deliver, granted wordlessly where her defiant voice would have brought death upon them—no, there had never been a choice at all.

Could she have been expected to do more? It was not her place to have stood and fought that day, satin gloved fingers tightly wound about the grip of her rapier to challenge an insurmountable force, willing a fool's battle to come.

She was not the hero.

But then, the Princess could only wonder what her post now entailed. In the past few days, it seemed she was to simply sit and be little more than a hostage, replete with information her enemies knew well enough themselves and blood already spent on a broken throne. Her book told of her forebears past, documenting much of the same. Her blessing of wisdom was bestowed to govern or guide, the host idle as another worked to reclaim the kingdom in its ruler's place.

She had never questioned such a thing when younger eyes had scanned such stories, fondly picturing the battles of bygone eras. Zelda's faith in the Gods' designs had never been shaken. But brought into reality, the tales had lost their charms, and the Heavens seemed the idle party as her own mind—and heart—began to race.

Holy eyes were upon her, expectant that she play her part, and the time ticked by wasted. There were many things she felt she could have done aside simply waiting and watching the world writhe below. Wisdom beckoned she act, and every minute that rolled by convinced her there was far more that could be done with her role than what the legends told.

Did she serve a purpose while she waited here in the dust and cold, or purposely serve?

Thunder rolled once more from the clouds, the harsh boom jarring her from her reverie as it shook her very bones, drawing another flinch as if willing the Princess to move. Rising quickly to it, Zelda stood in a small fit of pique, harassed and small against the sparse chamber as she called out to the angry skies in answer.

"What more can I _do _but sit and hope, while confined by lock and key?!"

It echoes out lonely and sharp within the still air, dying with the rumble to leave shrill silence ringing in her ears. Shaking hands slowly steadied, releasing the pressured bite of her nails upon leather bound cover as she settled, and soon the Princess was gazing out of the window with resentment in her eyes.

The Gods must've understood that she had played her part as well as she could have for the brief time she had found herself in this new and unfortunate chapter. Like any other woman bearing the name Zelda within that decrepit tome, was it not her place here beside the fire, awaiting the chosen one? This is what the tales told. She had done all she could, pulled along like a puppet on fate's thread and gracefully performed as expected.

But the raging storm had stirred up her doubts, and it was clear to her mind that no matter what would be written of these patient days in the pages of her own history, it simply could not be left as painfully accurate as this.

She frowned to herself quizzically as she watched the clouds move, swirling and inky like no storm she'd ever seen. Picking up the sides of her cloak and setting the book down gingerly upon her stool, steps were swiftly taken toward the dark lattice framing such eerie, sullen skies.

Even with those few footfalls alone, the warmth was fleeting to be left behind with the fire. It was too quick a change, she felt as she thought on it, as if she had stepped into the gales themselves. The chill of the outside world seemed to seep in through the shuddering glass, snaking around her form to appraise and explore... perhaps even, she realised, to _threaten_.

It prickled at her flesh as if her robes were not there at all, a sensation not unlike burning, in fact, once the threshold of the cold had been passed. An unnatural itch of magic raising the hairs upon her skin crawled faintly across every inch of her, and quick to decipher it, Zelda would send a wary glance to the back of her hand to catch the golden flicker there.

She stifled a slight gasp as it struck her, awful epiphany pouring forth from her blessing to fill the Princess with silent dread. It was not the Gods that riled impatiently within the storm, but a man whose name she had dared not speak, nor even think of when she could help it, if only to avoid the chance of summoning such a presence. A character that had haunted her imagination for as long as she had held tales of him in hand—a demon thief and a scoundrel who stole not from men, but the Heavens themselves.

Zelda stared out at the skies, studying in the tempest any personification to be related to that man, paranoid and awful an omen as it could've been. Drawing a slow breath, she placed a hand to the window pane, fingers arching reluctantly at the biting frost it held as she watched. The storm raged as his fury might, fighting against whatever chains still held him at bay. Compelling thunderheads rolled and grew in darkness and strength, as his power no doubt returned. Lightning cleaved the darkness like flashes of his madness, clawing out at the soils of a land he craved with a desert thirst, and Zelda's features softened into a perceptive and curious expression.

Perhaps _he_ too was aware of the gaps within the lines of her book, and knew she was a far more valuable asset than even she had given herself credit for. The Princess was not a hostage, she realised as thunder rolled low.

She was a _trophy _to be kept, a souvenir of Zant's victory and the success of his coup, and Zelda could not quell the sudden notion that she was to be presented to the one who sent him.

Five days had the imp—a native of this Twilight—scoured the world in search of the chosen one at her behest. Whether Midna returned with the hero in time was a likelihood, for Zelda held every faith that fate would reveal itself soon, but it seemed the arrival of Zant's master was upon them _now_.

Her hand fell away from the pane slowly, withdrawn and held to her chest as the Princess took a step back. If nothing else, Wisdom allowed her to be decisive in dire times, and the beginnings of curiosity stirred vaguely upon the fringe of her mind. If this was the hand she was dealt, she would play it with everything she had. Soon enough, her enemy would show his face, and from there she could glean answers and weaknesses if need be.

The ghost of a smile lingered cynical on her lips as her breath fogged out before her, bold as she whispered the name she, since childhood, had been wary of.

"...Save your energy, Ganondorf. This has only just begun."

As if to second this, an odd scuffling of paws sounded from the stone stairwell, catching her by surprise until a low lupine growl echoed out into the chamber behind her. A giggle swiftly matched it, haughty and familiar to signal Midna's presence as well, and thunder clapped violently overhead to rattle the glass once more in angry protest.

The Princess did not flinch when it came. Instead, she simply bowed her head to send a knowing glance to the skies, and turned to face the first ray of hope to cut through the darkness of the storm.

A wolf had arrived to warm its fur by her fire, and his eyes held the shine of a Hero.


	2. Mirror, Mirror

2: _Mirror, Mirror_

The Princess had settled into a much calmer state of mind since sending the Twili and her companion on their way, relieved that the course of fate had begun to take hold. So too did the storm subside, she noted, to settle into a miserable though patient pattering of rain.

The name Link was one that struck her ear with a fond and quiet precision, intimately known, though it was very rarely spoken or written. Zelda held little doubt that the wolf with steely blue eyes was indeed a sentient beast of virtue and courage, and feeling her worries somewhat eased by his presence, she grew confident that Midna had indeed stumbled upon one of Heroic blood.

Narrowly avoiding one of the guards posted to her keep, they had left her tower safely to travel unhindered for the moment, but Zelda was not foolish enough to believe their movements were unknown. Avoiding the fiendish creatures that now stalked castle halls only meant avoiding an immediate punishment.

Left to her own devices, she had taken to tactics in her small room, pacing slow beside her window as she watched the world turn under twilight. Though she felt certain now that Zant was simply an emissary of a much greater threat, neither the usurper or his master had made habit of frequenting the castle since the coup was staged, leaving only beastly sentries to watch over her.

Dipping her quill in ink, the Princess began to take note of the rounds they made, surreptitiously documenting whatever she could—which creatures were more alert, whatever they were armed with, any sign of openings left by change overs. It would take a while yet, sneaking down the stairwell to risk a peek every so often and listening close for the shifting of metal greaves, but she was determined to track the guards as closely as she could.

If there was any chance of slipping past them, she would find it.

In the meantime, Zelda read and wondered of the Heroes in her tales, comparing them to the one brought before her. She had been taken aback by the form in which he came—some hopeful part of her had expected to see the verdant green of a tunic when first she laid eyes on the Chosen of this era. The coarse fur, blended of ash shades and sooty black, had come as a shock to say the least, and it was clear that the affects of the twilight tainting her lands alone would hinder much of the progress to be made in dissolving this occupation.

Darkness held the winning hand, and it would take a mighty bluff to gain the advantage from here.

While the Princess found herself both concerned for Link's welfare and hopeful of his success, she also weighed the fact that she knew very little of Midna's true motives. Her dealings with the mysterious imp had been a mixture of tells as to her intentions thus far, and while Zelda believed she could trust the Twili insofar as keeping her word, there was no illusion between them that Midna acted out of the goodness of her heart.

Whatever her reasons, Zelda reasoned with herself that Midna's aid—despite ulterior motives—was still an invaluable thing; the Hero could not navigate the Twilight alone. So long as the imp did not intend to betray or worsen things further, they could do nothing but accept alliance where it arose and be grateful for such a thing.

A hidden agenda, while still serving to combat the plague upon Hyrule, was something Zelda could not bring herself to be concerned with too greatly at present. As long as Link obtained the Master Sword, at this point it made little difference as to what path they took there.

This quickly became something of a mantra for the Princess as the days rolled by, bringing fleeting comfort as she was forced to put her faith in old legends and strangers.

Another morning broke, haunted by grey clouds and jaundiced skies, silence muffled by the sound of heavy rain. Zelda stirred slowly to the pattering upon her window, shivering beneath the covers and reluctant to face the bleak reality she was becoming accustomed to.

Routine had already taken hold here; the dreary habits of a prisoner forming. A stifled yawn, a few disbelieving blinks as her vision was cleared of sleep to focus upon the damask brick of tower walls. A foreign and uncomfortable bed beneath her that she felt confused by—in those awful, half formed first moments of the day—before reminding herself that it was indeed where she now slept, bereft of the silk and satin she was most familiar with.

Another common facet of her time her was one that, perhaps, personally disturbed her the most. Once again, she woke with no dreams to recall, even her slumber now reduced to an uneventful and hollow thing to be repeated. At first, Zelda had taken some relief for the fact that she slept without the prophetic visions expected of her blessing—she did not witness the coming darkness, nor wake screaming and frightful like she did as a child, and so she rested well to conserve her health and sanity.

But so too had it occurred to her that such nightmares had vanished from her head with good reason, for time had allowed prophecy to bleed forth into reality; warnings coming to an end as events finally began to unfold. Worse still, no visions of victory against this blight had come to take their place, and this had settled into the depths of Zelda's heart with an anxious weight.

It took some willpower to lift herself away from the lumpy pillow, stiff and cold as she sat up, mournfully scanning the sparse chamber with a dejected sigh. To her great sorrow, she found herself privately wishing she could have all of her nightmares back tenfold, if only they could be kept imprisoned within her head and never sink their fangs into the waking world as they did now.

_It isn't as if a nursemaid is here to comfort me like those days, either way, _she thought with some defeat, taking a tangled lock into her fingers for inspection to add to the lament.

What she wouldn't have given simply to have some kindly old woman take her hand, guiding her over to the vanity of her old rooms to sit the girl down and brush brunette tresses back into perfection. Someone to soothe her, kind company mingled upon a strict and mothering hand, fencing off the chaotic turns of her mind with disciplined schedules and orderly advice.

"Just be grateful to remain in your own home…" she whispered to herself, attempting to imitate the care she had known—it had become a lonely habit of hers, talking to herself as wisdom worked to balance her worry. "…intact as it remains, for the moment."

Tentatively pushing the covers aside, she shifted to place her feet upon the cold stone, steeling herself for another day with a slow and steadying breath. As she padded to cross the distance between bed and the chair her cloak lay draped over, crystalline eyes drifted toward the window again in habit, gauging the weather beyond with a sliver of paranoia.

The slip she wore to bed held no defence against the chill, despite her becoming used to the bite revealed by a dying fire, and she was quick to cover her form further.

"At least the storm hasn't returned." She murmured, clutching the cloak for warmth as she suppressed the last of her shivering. "Though... if it is anything like the absence of my dreams, that might not be a favourable omen."

Her ears twitched as a few stray droplets sizzled against the greying embers of her fireplace, and with a wary furrowing of delicate brows, she wondered when her true enemy would confirm himself.

If the weather was indeed a reflection of evil's progress, a sudden calm could only be a cause of concern.

Holding an incredulous look, Zelda forced herself to turn away, knowing such thoughts would only drive her deeper into the abyss. In the pursuit of normality, some semblance of stability taken by the ghosted routine her handmaidens had taught her, Zelda moved instead toward the old oaken desk nestled away in the corner of her prison. Without fail, it had become the sanctuary of her mornings, home to parchment and quill and a dusty mirror forged of silver; the glass polished up to allow her proper grooming.

If nothing else, she would not be stripped of her pride.

The Princess settled in with the familiar scrape of wooden legs against stone, taking up an old brush that had lost half its bristles as she set to slow work on her hair. She watched herself in the mirror, patient and poised as she worked through knotted tresses, contented by the peace she found in the action.

Odd as it may have been, Zelda found she preferred to look upon herself unadorned by regal attire or the jewels of royalty. Coiled upon the desk lay the neglected crown, flashed no more than a glance as it sat powerless upon the word. A small part of her mourned the loss of her right to it, unworthy as she felt her brow was of what it symbolised, and yet she could not deny the liberated flutter that trickled through her when her reflection sat bearing no trace of her status.

There was something uniquely powerful, she thought, in her humble appearance alone. It was not the beauty she had been praised for—inherited from her dear mother—but rather something private within her that felt fuller without such things, as if her blood ran cheapened by the trinkets representing it.

Her reflection smiled back at her when the task was done, to her eye a genuine image of herself as she truly was, and running her fingertips through smoothed tresses Zelda could only take comforting satisfaction from the result. These little things left to her control had become, innocuous as they might have seemed to anyone watching, the small luxuries that would keep her strong within this place.

It was only then, as the faithful brush was lowered to rest upon the wood, that a dark and rather sinister chuckle echoed out to be heard.

Zelda froze, that awful chill seeming to seep in from nowhere, her first instinct to look behind her in horror for the intruder to whom it belonged—there had been no creaking door, no flash of movement within the mirror to warn of them. She was alone, and a frantic sweep of her gaze across the chamber confirmed this. The tone of a stanger's amusement rumbled low in her ears all the same, and the Princess realised its origin quickly, paling further as her head slowly turned to look at the mirror once more.

Her reflection did not stare back.

Upon the silvery glass, sharp against the streaks born of dust, golden irises now resided where blue danced only moments before. Those eyes struck her immediately, piercing as they bored into her own, filled with experience and intelligence as malice swirled like flames within them to send a familiar shiver crawling up her spine.

There was no doubt; the deathly chill that so often swept her, like the weather and the storm, belonged to those eyes. All one and the same, and now—unnerved as it fell into place—Zelda realised just how often that golden gaze had watched her.

A creak strained from the chair as her back pressed against it, her body unconsciously desperate to put distance between herself and the mirror as more detail became apparent, filling the glass like spoke to stain and paint the picture of the man to whom such eyes belonged.

The hard lines of armour became apparent, polished to shine black like obsidian as bold filigree formed western designs, adorned with droplets of topaz and gold to boast wealth gained by way of war. Tanned skin—darkened so far as to be compared to burnt umber—matched the leather hide to be glimpsed of his under dressings, thick and hardy from a life worked under the harshest sun, tightly sculpted around corded muscle that could lift her by the throat with ease. Exotic features, worn away into the lines of a natural scowl by desert winds, allowed him to claim a fearsome calm for his expression as it was framed by fiery locks and a regally tended beard.

Tightly curled about a thorned crown of gold, his hair boasted an incarnadine shade of red Zelda had only witnessed of the freshest wound, a series of thin chains running forth to hold a headpiece of foreign sovereignty upon his brow which—unlike her own—seemed to boldly exemplify everything the man believed of his entitlement to power.

His mouth ticked finally into a smirk that she could only describe as cruel, and her stomach seemed to twist in turn, as if she were face to face with an abomination of nature itself.

The apparition shifted slowly, leaning forward behind the glass to lace thick fingers before him, and the rich rumble of his voice drew comparison to the imposing thunder of the storm, threatening to pull a flinch from her yet.

"Hello, Princess."

Anger flashed through her bones like lightning, cleaving the fear that had silenced her as a sneer ghosted Zelda's lips. This was the face of her country's despair, the master who had sent the malformed armies of the twilight forth to corrupt and kill, and the owner of a cursed name even her father had dared not speak.

'Hello' was an insult more potent than she could bear.

"So it is you." She gave it calmly, the words slithering between her teeth a disdainful hiss. "I had begun to wonder if we would ever meet... at least I was partially correct. Ganondorf Dragmire, I believe?"

The chuckle rang out again, the low sound of it reverberating within her very bones as the smirk widened enough to flash the white of his teeth, and a slow conceding nod was all he offered to her.

"I would imagine you are not here to be diplomatic." She returned curtly, regaining her composure as her hands came to be folded upon her lap.

"I'm afraid _diplomacy_ is not one of my strong suits, no."

A terse grimace was her only reply.

Arching a fiery brow, the Gerudo shifted to adopt a more matter of fact expression, the haughty smirk of amusement fading as he seemed to muse aloud. "I have been known as a thief to many, but truth be told, I am not one to slip in unnoticed and steal whatever it is I desire like a coward in the night. I am a King, Princess. I take boldly the spoils of a battle won, and I thought it was high time you were allowed to know the face of the victor..."

Then the corner of his mouth ticked to hint the smirk once more, subtle though it was now as he sent a glance toward her brush.

"...That is, unless Hyrule's Princess has become more concerned with her appearance than the affairs of her country?"

Clenching her jaw lightly to keep her tongue in check, Zelda studied him with an unmoved stare, memorising the lines of his face under the notion that expression often guided truth. She had stumbled across the art of reading a lie in one's eyes in the books she had read in her youth, or gleaning proper intention from the corner of a mouth, but as she watched she could not find trace of such things clearly enough to follow.

She decided then he must be the most practised she had ever held misfortune to meet at hiding his true self from another's eye; an opportunistic bastard and a liar. Not hours after the King's mysteriously sudden death, the coup had been staged and the castle easily overrun with beasts born of shadow and misery. In the haste and horror of it all, strung up upon the altar of ultimatum and duty, the Princess had barely gotten the chance to mourn her father at all.

"If you had expected to find a dishevelled and broken captive quivering alone by this time, I am quite sorry to have disappointed you. It is not easy to be appraised of my people's well being, when my only view is from a tower window, after all. I have filled my time as I could." She returned smoothly, delicate features schooled into nonchalant and distant neutrality.

The Gerudo inclined his head with a twitch of his brow, hiding his mouth behind his hands as thumbs came to support his support his chin thoughtfully.

"You think me predictable?"

It was Zelda's turn then to wear the ghosted smirk, creasing the kiss of her mouth daringly though she knew her coyness may cost her. She would take his comments in stride, refusing to be baited for a rise. If nothing else, the Princess would not entertain him as he wished.

"There are many stories of you, handed down by the last era... not of all of them accurate, mind, but enough that a pattern has been formed."

"I suppose there are, yes." he reflected a moment on what she had said, tongue clicking to muse as his hands shifted to reveal a tempered and smug sort of smile. "I do not leave a forgettable impression, so I've come to understand... with such a picture painted of me, it stands to reason that you would chose a swift surrender. Inexperienced as you are with war, it is commendable that you foresaw the futility of resistance."

Crystalline eyes flashed for the defiance she knew it was to speak so frankly to him, wondering if his own temper would prove more volatile than she expected.

"You seem to speak of yourself much as the tales would portray you, but as I said, not _all_ of them are accurate. For a King, as you say, who does not wish to pride themselves on cowardly or stealthy occupations, your actions beg to differ. Be it swearing false fealty so as to snatch away royal treasures, sending Zant as your emissary, or hiding behind glass as you do now... you seem to me the very opposite of a forthright, I'm sorry to say."

"Is that so?" a humourless scowl formed quickly, a small myriad of things such as curiosity, anger and offence crossing the lines of his face. It was easy to guess that he was weighing her words carefully, turning them over for the value of the insult to come and deciding upon a fitting punishment when it did.

Zelda watched him closely as she spoke, silently testing the waters of his nature.

"You make a marvellous _politician_... but I have watched the rise of many men within my father's court. I am familiar with a silver tongue in pursuit of power, and it is in that—rather than the tales—I can indeed draw predictability from you. I had feared you would be beyond my depth when the coup occurred, I'll admit, but reflection and the way you conduct yourself have settled my nerves since."

It was dangerous, she knew, to bluff him so. If there was one thing to be garnered of the tales of old, it was the fragile line between controlled manipulation and vengeful fury he possessed. She needed to scope out his boundaries and find it, prying to feel the gaps she could exploit and whether she could slip past them. If he would brag or gloat to prove her wrong, make comment to reveal he had been aware of her other visitors, that was all information precious to her progress—anything of his intentions, any hint of where to go next to undo him.

Even if she could only manage to buy the Hero time by drawing their enemy's ire upon herself to distract, it would make her position all the more bearable.

As an aside, wrapping it all up into the point of a barb, the Princess would take to smoothing out the fabric of her slip, so negligent that she would no longer even hold his gaze; dismissive.

"It is refreshing, however, to find the Demon Thief of old does not fright me as an adult quite like he did when I was a child. Once, I confess, I thought of you much like a monster hiding beneath the covers, a vague and worrying mystery that loomed in the shadows. Thankfully, that image has been long shed of you... it seems you are just another Lord with far too much influence, and the added advantage of mystical inclination."

And so it was that the first lie came easily from her lips, lingering warm in the air before her to slip like poison into his ears.

Zelda knew well of Din's blessing upon his hand. She was aware of his familiarity with war and royalty alike. She had read of the wars before the unification, Gerudo warriors rivaling even the Sheikah in their penchant for death, and she knew that he had lead them not as a general, but a soldier out on the frontlines beside them. It sent shivers down her spine to think that he, chained and run through by the holy Sages themselves, could not only somehow free himself but seconds later, attack and _kill_ one of their numbers with bare hands.

There was no man or monster the world over that could plunge her heart so quickly into a silent, airless terror at the very thought of them, and of what darkness they left in their wake.

But, Gods above, she could never allow him to know that.

The Gerudo allowed a deathly silence to fall between them after that, having watched the movement of her hands as they easily implied her dismissal, golden eyes narrowing decisively upon her face as she finished. To her surprise, he retained his collected calm, simply darkening into a level of resentment she had not seen as yet.

"If that is all you know to compare me to, Princess, then your life has been tragically _kind_ to you." he offered then, inclining his head to peer at the brush upon her desk as the fires of his gaze swirled to betray thoughts she hadn't a hope of knowing. He seemed to reflect upon them carefully, quickly, his fingers shifting to tent before he caught himself to lace them again.

"But that is my mistake." he continued, quietly confident. "Indeed, from this tower, you likely cannot see how far my... _influence and mystical inclinations_ run. I will work to correct that."

Zelda struggled not to shrink back into her seat as the Gerudo would lean forward behind the glass, drawing close with a secretive curve worn upon his lips, whispering to her with a dangerous camber in his eyes.

"...When Hyrule lies burning at your feet; when even the fortified walls of the town below are crumbling amongst the ashes, keeping up the _appearance_ of control will be but the most _distant_ of frivolities. I can only wonder how long away the day is when you _are_ a dishevelled, weeping wreck who has long thrown her hairbrush out of that window in _despair_."

Crystalline eyes widened as he spoke, a desperate panic taking hold as the man offered a slow nod toward the window behind her. Despite her façade, the fear that he had already made good on such a threat struck her forcefully, a sense of dread washing over her skin numbly—part of her truly expected to turn and find the orange glow of an inferno burning just beyond her window, claiming the once familiar horizon.

Tense as she saw the flash of his eyes, Zelda couldn't help but turn in her chair, hair whipping behind her as she frantically searched the view from her tower.

To her great relief, she found nothing but the bleak skies she knew, burdened by jaundiced clouds to remain unchanged, and she released a breath she didn't realize she had held. It must've been obvious, for the dark chuckle sounded behind her once again and she cursed herself for it, refusing to turn and see the smug smirk there as she frowned unseen.

"Pride isn't _power_, after all... Is it, Princess?"

She did not reply. Silence fell to thicken the air and the chill seemed to withdraw from her, like a hand had been removed from her shoulder, the weight of it removed to allow the warmth of her robe to become more present.

Tentatively, Zelda allowed her head to turn, glancing back toward the mirror out of the corner of her eye. Oaken locks of blonde and brunette shades could be found there to replace his, pale flesh her own and a crystalline gaze as was normal. A pallid expression haunted her features as she looked upon them, surprised as she was to suddenly find it there. Darkness had gathered to form circles beneath her eyes and the shadows ran more pronounced about her cheeks to leave her whitewashed and gaunt.

It was as if his very presence had sucked the life from her bones.

A long and shaken sigh rolled from her as her posture broke, slumping forward in her chair to lean elbows upon the desk. Wearily, her head came heavy to rest in her hands, eyes closed and covered as she rubbed them lightly. She felt her palms trembling against her cheeks, wrists feeling weaker than she knew them to be, and soon she let her arms fall to the wood to hold elbows steady.

Listlessly she shook her head, unable to stay the shiver she had taken on since he left as she realised what a toll he took upon her nerves. Every inch of her felt like lead, and with tired eyes cracking open to glance down at her hairbrush, Zelda willed herself to move on with her day if only to spite him.

It was disturbing how much energy even that took, shaken as she was.

_Parlour tricks and the intimidation tactics of old men too long in their tenure, _she told herself, forcing herself to think of other things—the comforts of her routine, the discipline of following it. Wooden legs scraped across stone as she drew herself slowly upward, palms settled against the desk for stability as she stared at herself in the mirror.

She was dressed and groomed... what else was it she did, as she had done for the past sixteen days of confinement? It was a confronting thing to realise the man held such a force of presence as to muddle even that simple bit of recall, forcing her to actively remember her place in the day.

Ah, yes. Reading. She would read the same stories, out of the same book—one she needn't even open to recite in its entirety now—while she sat patiently by the window, and pray.

That was all she could do... or at least, all she knew how, as yet.

Bare feet swept her slowly away from the desk to cross the cold stone, still trembling hand reaching down to pluck the tome from her bedside as she passed by. Settling into her place within the window's chill, book nestled upon her lap as always, her fingers traced the worn leather without the heart to lift it open at present. Her family's crest stared boldly back at her from its front, and with furrowed brows she turned away from it, tracing the horizon through the blur of the downpour outside and allowing the calm rhythm against the panes to settle her.

_I wonder... _she began to think, shifting her gaze toward the southern forests as much as she could from her tower, _if he has chosen now to start monitoring me more closely for a reason? _

It had indeed been quite a while since her last pair of visitors, and if Ganondorf was indeed watchful of the Hero's moments as she suspected, his sudden interest in her spirits seemed well timed to suggest Link's success.

That possibility brought a shimmer of hope back to calm her nerves, tattered as the Gerudo seemed to have left them. A small and hopeful smile graced her as Zelda allowed her hand to fondly sweep the embossed leather of her tome.

_So, he and Midna have likely freed his body of the Twilight__'__s curse... if he has lifted the veil over Ordon, then Ganondorf__'__s attention should well and truly have been drawn to them by now. It won__'__t be long now before he starts actively working to stop their progress, himself._

That tired worry had come creeping back as she closed her eyes with a sigh, clasping her hands tightly together atop the book—an old habit taught to her from childhood by a longstanding nursemaid, intended to channel both worry and anger into swift release, hidden behind the dignity and grace expected of her station. She squeezed tightly, willing the Hero onward from afar and trying to internally bolster her faith in the boy she had barely met, though even with the legends, this was not something that came as easily as she'd have liked.

The darkness behind her eyelids shifted then into a brightened red, and blinking slowly to open them, Zelda found the harsh shimmer of the sun peeking out from behind inky clouds. It had risen to high noon and already started to fall, it seemed, seconds later devoured behind the smokey haze once more to eerily glow there; weakly filtering through.

_It must be later than I thought, _she idly considered to herself, blinking away the visual shock of the sun's brief flash though grateful to regain some sense of the time.

Since her stay in the tower, Zelda had found it rather hard to keep track of how long she had spent here, and the weather blocked out much of the natural sun beyond it—perpetual twilight, it seemed, was exactly that. The Princess knew it had wreaked havoc upon her sleeping patterns as well, and it was little wonder she hadn't much energy to spare. But with a Western facing tower, whenever she could make out the distant, distorted glow of the sun, she knew the world beyond enjoyed an afternoon. 

But with the Gerudo so fresh in her mind, a curious realisation struck her.

Her tower faced westward—the direction of the desert mesas, and her captor's homeland.

Shifting forward to peer through the iron lattice, Zelda searched the hazy horizon, tracing the distant line of it to find the blurred sand of the dunes. It was difficult to make the out, but she could see them all the same, drawn to them with the aid of a landmark that brought the shiver back to her.

The Western tribe no longer took up residence in the desert, but in their place, the Arbiter's Grounds stood firm; reaching out of the earth like a clawed hand. Lonely and isolated, juxtaposed to its surrounds and clearly—awfully—visible from the castle, the decrepit prison had long been abandoned though it stood as a testament to the harsh fate of Hyrule's worst.

It was also the intended destination of Ganondorf, built—in part—to hold him and his followers until their sentence; a failed execution, as fate would have it.

Some method to his madness could be gleaned of that, she realised, as she regarded the distant monolith carefully. He intended for Zelda to watch as her Kingdom fell, unable to prevent the suffering of her people, and though it may not have been the reason he kept her, the Princess was certain it was why he had kept her _here_. It was cruelty, no doubt, but it seemed to run the course of personal vendetta; symbolic and tailor made for her misery.

Perhaps he had chosen a western view for her specifically, or even subconsciously, allowing her a hint at what made him tick. His own people were gone. Though it seemed odd for her to think of him at first, this ruthless warlord of the past, he stated himself as a King and not a conqueror. If beyond his twisted mind, a human heart still mourned the tribe's fate, her position seemed to imply that he had suffered with such loss and wished for her to know of such pain in turn.

Zelda had read well of the last era, but was not so familiar with the Gerudo—not for lack of interest, but rather, a lack of information that she now wondered of. That fact alone had her suddenly wondering of the historian's bias, quills influenced by fear, and of how much of her ancestor's legacies had been censored over time.

Her hands finally unclasped themselves to gingerly settle about the sides of her book, and the Princess' gaze fell again to the crest it bore. Zelda sighed, regretful of her negligence in chasing up such accounts prior to her capture, now that she was left with only legends and doctored tales.

"The grandest library in all of Hyrule, one flight of stairs and a few halls away..." she mused dejectedly to herself, frowning as she shook her head, "…might as well be _miles_."

The distant creak of metal doors caught her attention to disturb her, followed soon enough by the heavily shifting foot falls of an inhuman creature as it scurried its way up the stairwell. As it drew nearer, the muffled reptilian snarls seemed to indicate foreign speech, though it was not directed at her—if she didn't know better, Zelda would've sworn she heard the beastly equivalent of a disgruntled and reluctant servant. Even with such warning, she found herself flinching as the sharp knock rang out, jarring against the silence she'd grown used to and seeming to shatter it with unnecessary force. Another snarling—a strange series of clicking growls—did seem to address her this time, though only briefly before the tell tale clatter of metal upon stone could be heard.

Grimacing to remain silent, the Princess listened closely for the creature to retreat, biding her time to avoid them before she stood to set her book aside and hurry over to her doors. Placing both hands to the metal ring serving as her handle, she pulled with all her weight—even shunting it open required more and more effort each day, simply to receive a meal.

Poking her head out to lean through the gap, crystalline eyes would narrow in a habitual distaste. She did not go hungry in this place, for it was hard to gain an appetite at all. Zelda could not decide whether it was the hospitality received, or the food itself, that caused the sinking and queasy sensation in her stomach, but when she heard the knock each day—only once, but all the same—she grew more averse to the thought of eating whatever came with it.

The menu did not change to entice her either, she had found.

Upon the tray as always lay a wooden bowl—which looked to be hand carved by one of the assorted monsters below in boredom—filled with a wheat based gruel that, if she were lucky, sometimes contain more oats than usual. Beside it, a single apple sitting whole as if plucked without care from the castle orchid, had become the thing she looked forward to most. Today it seemed only slightly blemished, with little sign of the birds having gotten to it as it grew. A tin mug filled with water, usually holding flecks of... whatever old barrel they kept it in, she supposed, also accompanied the tray.

With a heavy sigh, the Princess knelt to collect it, already electing to skip the sludge in the bowl as she studied it closer—a fortunate choice, for today, they had also forgotten her spoon. Leaning her weight against the heavy door to close it again, lazy footsteps would carry her back to her bedside, mug taken up to be sipped at while the tray would be unceremoniously tossed aside upon the covers beside her. The metallic taste wove a crinkle into her delicate nose, but Zelda was quick to ignore it.

Instead, she focused on the man responsible for such food being sent.

_If he is aware of Link's movements, his surveillance of me may become a daily thing… checking in on me and watching for any differences in my behaviour. No doubt he knows of their presence here, previously. _

Leaning her chin upon her palm, Zelda cringed for the thought of facing him every day. It was baffling how simply a look could make her feel so frail and small; his voice grating against he bones as it did to leave her hands trembling and her knees weak in worry.

"Din sear it all, I can barely stomach the food, let alone that..." she breathed mournfully, staring into the mug and watching the specks dance about with morbid fascination, exhausted by the thought already.

She knew it meant a daily opportunity to study him, also, but likewise could he begin to decipher her—Zelda had not missed, in their brief conversation, the keen wit his tongue could command. Perhaps he could be reasoned with to some extent if she humoured him, providing the entertainment he seemed privately expectant of.

Surely he, of all people, could understand the importance of proper nutrition and the sickness that could befall one without it. For the moment, at least, it seemed she was of little value to him dead. She knew there was far more to her position than simply to amuse him.

There must have been something she could offer or bargain with that wouldn't jeopardise the efforts against this occupation, and once she had figured out what exactly that was, leverage could do the rest.

Her attention slowly shifted toward the desk again, eyeing the brush as it sat idle upon the wood, and the last few things he had said to her echoed out within her mind again. The Princess knew, despite her bluff, that his threats were far from empty. She needed to keep his attention upon her, and distract him from the Hero as much as possible, if Link and Midna were to succeed now that Ganondorf had them in his sights.

Human form returned or not, the Master Sword was still far from the Hero's hand, and if Zelda could manage nothing more than brushing her hair to draw pride from, then indeed, she held no power at all.

But she was close, she felt, to working out the sentries' movements in the castle below. Soon enough, she would have the opportunity to leave the tower, if only for a short while. Escape was no option, but now that she had thought on it, a book had served her well thus far. The library could only help her further, if only she could get there—she was't sure what she was looking for as yet, but Nayru willing, she would find it.

If she didn't, it was very likely the Gerudo would likely see Hyrule torn asunder before Link could lay eyes upon such a blade, let alone face and defeat him in battle like the tales of old.

Something had to give, or the Kingdom she knew and loved would go up in smoke...

And the Princess would have a front row seat.


	3. Run

3: _Run_

Another week had passed, time ticking by with an agonisingly slow pace, as the Princess took to waiting for the opportune moment to arise. She had whittled down the schedule of the sentries to within two minutes accuracy now, even able to identify which creatures took which shifts.

A changeover was soon to occur as Zelda paced her chamber patiently, mentally tracking the countdown as pointed ears perked to the sound of any movement below—Iron Knuckles, as she knew them, were the hardest to slip by. Thankfully, they were also the creatures she had become most familiar with. One in particular was tasked with checking on her periodically, having narrowly missed the Hero and the Twili whilst on his rounds once before, though the two stationed outside the stairwell were varied and swapped around often. This included when she bathed.

But they were all slow, and heavy armour gave no advantage against a nimble opponent. More than that, their eyesight was not quite as keen as their hearing; this she knew by one failed attempt, followed by watching through the crack in the lower doors.

A rat had once run by unnoticed, scurrying close to the feet of what it thought to be statues, until a squeak had set them into surprised motion to seal the rodent's fate with a boot.

Her failed attempt at escape had come early in the piece, only days into her capture. Boldly, she had slipped through the doors of the bathing chambers, seizing the opportunity when she found herself unguarded for the first time. She hadn't noted the odd absence of surveillance within the upper floors at that point, desperately fleeing down the first flight of stairs she could in nothing but a towel. None had truly thought her foolish enough to attempt such a daring sprint, but when the Princess soon found herself surrounded within the grand foyer, it became apparent why.

Since then, she had been confined solely to the tower, instead brought up a wash basin for her troubles. The security on the upper levels had been increased as well, but Zelda had gleaned enough—the ground floor was the most heavily patrolled to prevent entry or exit of the castle, but a jaunt within the castle itself was certainly possible with good timing and ample stealth.

Over the course of the week she carefully had planned such absconding, troubled by the Gerudo's attention thrice more since first he had appeared in her mirror.

His second visitation had been a scathing one that had left her confidence well and truly rattled, in which Zelda learned of the cruelty his words were capable. The third had been a battle of wits that seemed oddly sporting in nature at first, only to devolve into a bitter series of aspersions cast between them, cut short as he vanished from the glass to leave her fuming and unable to vent. The fourth had been much like the first, civil and high handed as they gauged the other carefully and worked to decipher tells and bluffs, mapping the wavers of their voices and the glances of their eyes in order to read the secrets in them.

He was a difficult man to interact with, and the Princess found he had a knack for creeping under her skin and stirring up a whirlwind of emotional turmoil within. She did her best to hide such affects from him, though she had come to loathe the mirror that once brought her subtle comfort.

Even the habit of talking to herself had to be held in check now, for at any moment she could turn to find him smirking in the glass, privy to every word of it. She had found—much to her chagrin—that the Gerudo was able to turn such private thoughts against her whenever he did catch them, possessing a skill for it she had never witnessed in another.

Though she didn't like to admit it, Ganondorf was indeed slowly chipping away at her resolve, though she guessed this was one of his objectives. She needed something to bolster her defences, and privately, she yearned to one day leave _him_ just as shaken from a conversation with her.

With the evidence of her inability to act splayed out before her every time Zelda gazed upon the light of day, and the knowledge that it was he who wrought such chaos, it was little wonder the Princess had grown desperate to return the blows in any way she could.

And determined not to play a losing hand, she readied her first shot to be fired.

_Any minute now, _she told herself patiently, counting the seconds to the click of her heels as she paced beside her doors, watching them with hawklike precision.

Three hours was all she had. If she missed her opportunity to return before a meal was brought up to an empty chamber, it would give the game away. The halls saw double the guards at night, and so this was her only opportunity—unable to time her waking and with only the first swap to start her count by, it was the best chance she would receive.

As she listened for the shift of metal greaves, Zelda ran over the course she would take to the royal archives, inspired by the paths she'd taken as a wayward child while avoiding the most boring of her tutors. She was unsure of the patrol routes between her tower and the destination in mind, but that fact simply couldn't be helped, and the Princess had thought of several places to hide along the way if need be.

_With any luck, it'll be just the same as skipping arithmetic_, she thought with a small smile, pausing as she heard some movement echo faintly through the stairwell. Slipping through the gap, she took a moment to steel herself at the top of the stairs, kicking off her heels and holding her skirts high. _Here we go..._

The Princess descended the flight quickly, padding silently around curving brick until she stood ready beside the iron doors; bars to her prison. Pointed ears twitched as they strained to hear, pleased as she found silence beyond, and cautiously Zelda moved to push one side open with only the slightest creak. Fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her dress, her heart racing as she drew up the courage to lean forward through the gap. Sending a wary glance down the corridor—to the left, to the right—finally, a maddened smile slowly crept its way across her icy lips with the desperate glee for freedom only captives could know.

Gone; nothing but torchlight dimly flickering against the walls as she dared to pass the threshold and step onto the red carpet runner she recalled, squeezing through the doors without hesitation to push them closed.

With another frantic scan of the hall, the Princess would duck with an awkward bound toward the darker side of the brickwork, haphazardly bunching up her skirts and working to tie them into a steady knot by her upper thigh. Pulling a ribbon from her brassier, it would be held between her teeth as she readied the fabric, twisting it in such a way as to keep while she moved before tying it securely in place for good measure.

One more paranoid glance, up the hall and back again in the direction she'd head, and without any sign of the new guards as yet, that was all the prompting Zelda needed.

She _ran._

Slender legs were swift, bare feet beating along the carpet like a drumroll as the world blurred around her with liberties forgotten and a speed even the Princess had come to doubt in herself. The dimly lit brickwork of her home flashed by with fleeting bursts of warmth where torches sat, the end of the hall coming to meet her with blood thumping in pointed ears. The floor simply moved beneath her in a way that was beautiful to her eye, the castle seeming to fluidly shift around her in a frantic lapse of order as—finally—she rounded the awful corner to leave that tower behind.

A feeling of exhilaration swept her each time her feet hit the ground, barely able to fathom it for so long spent locked away—not only within this occupation, but for the majority of her life. Bound up in restrictive movements labelled graceful, stifled and stilted to walk with decorum; trained to walk burdened by six books while straight backed as a lady should.

Zelda had not truly known such freedom since she was but a child, bolting away from her nursemaids or her lessons, and it came a shock as to how long ago that life suddenly seemed.

_How long ago since I have run like this...!_

The very thought split her mouth into a grin, panting breath staggered with silent laughter—she did not deny the fact, were she to let it slip, the guards would first think a mad woman had slipped into the castle from an asylum, rather than know it to be her.

They would likely not guess the agile streak of colour was her either, if she crossed one to bolt past and leave them blinking in bemusement.

Another corridor was claimed, and Zelda felt—in some small way—she had regained these little pieces of her castle as they were left in her wake, fingers clutching the knotted ball of her skirts as she moved. Suits of armour flew by as streaks of silver, saluting her as she went. Tapestries and crests carried the dusty smell she had known all her life, bringing her back to this place in spirit.

Flashes of bold reds and regal blues, ornately carved doors and the weapons of war veterans proudly displayed upon the walls and within glass cases. Portraits of her ancestors, framed to live on within silvers and golds, all proudly smiling down at her with hope as she went by. She was home again, away from the damask and dark chamber that had held her seemingly so far from the rest of this place.

Caught up in it all, carelessness threatened to get the best of her, the last corner conquered between herself and her destination to throw the Princess out into the open. She didn't seem to register him at first, as bold and tall as the statues gracing her halls, but when he moved reality came crashing down upon Zelda's reveries once more.

She came to such a forceful halt her feet burned to skid along the runner, nearly bunching it beneath to topple her as arms flew wide in panic, wavering to aid awkward balance upon her toes. Crystalline eyes were wide as she froze, like a field rabbit staring down the bolt of a crossbow. Lungs ached for the sudden lack of breath as she held it desperately, unwilling to make even the slightest of noise—the thing had its back to her as yet, iron greaves trudging slowly along with a metallic sound she knew all too well.

A frantic glance to the left eyed the nearest suit of armour to her, only a few feet away, before snapping back to the Iron Knuckle in her path. Timidly, the Princess would lean, taking a tentative first step toward it and overly cautious—they may be slow to see, but they were certainly not deaf.

It was a small miracle the creature had not been alerted to her already, caught in some homesick daydream as she had allowed herself to be.

Cringing to suppress a squeak of unease, Zelda made haste, scurrying toward the shadow of the statue as if leaping back from a flame. The steel was cold against the nape of her neck as she all but collapsed to crouch there behind it, hugging trembling knees close to her chest with her back flush against metal plate. Unable to hold it any longer, a sharp exhale left her with a shudder, blown through pursed lips.

_Far too close. Far, **far** too close. Din sear it all, there **would** be somebody posted right outside the doors...!_

Willing herself to look, the Princess would nervously shift to peer past the statue's leg, studying the beast from afar. Bulky lines boasted muscle the likes of which she knew only Ganondorf possessed besides, an imposingly large axe sheathed across his back to glint menacingly within the torchlight. A two handed weapon that could cleave horses in battle with ease as they rode, let alone her own slender flesh; rending bones like brittle twigs left out too long in the sun.

The beast's helmet shifted, and odd though it was, he seemed to be staring up at a landscape of Eldin. It caught the Princess with some surprise to find such creatures capable of a taste for art—or perhaps, simply boredom. Then again, there was no evidence as to these things being without sentience, she supposed, and their roles as watchmen did stir her to wonder.

Perhaps they were not as closely tied to the darkness they served as she had previously thought?

But pushing aside such pondering, Zelda's gaze shifted past the guard quickly. Just beyond him, pristine mahogany doors sat carved to bear the royal crest, betraying the grand archives nestled achingly close behind—she could very nearly catch a whiff of parchment from here, her goal was so close...

Shutting her eyes and moving back into her sitting position, she let slip and irritated sigh to pinch the bridge of her nose. The boot falls ceased, and it was clear this thing was simply idle, strolling about and biding its time while on duty. She felt certain this was the Iron Knuckle's post.

Her mind turned quickly for a solution to her predicament as the Princess allowed her head to fall back and rest against the armour, heart sinking as she felt her opportunity slowly slipping away. A small flinch of discomfort came of it though, when something sharp dug into the back of her scalp, and as Zelda drew away from it to frown and rub the offended spot, an idea soon graced her.

A dagger hang at the hollow soldier's side, small and ceremonial though it was.

With a blink, the Princess offered the weapon an incredulous squint, twisting to run her finger along the blade—blunt, as expected. Not that she had been foolish enough to truly consider fighting her way into the libraries, but at this point, anything was better than returning to her tower without the best effort made.

Another glance to the beast confirmed his distraction with the painting still, and with wisdom enough to aid her cleverness, slender fingers would wind around the dagger's grip to slowly pull it free. Leaning to crawl, she stretched herself as close to the edge of the hall as she could without leaving the shadow, angling her aim around the corner. A few bobs of her hand to steady the course were taken slowly, a prayer sent with the blade is it was loosed from her fingers to skitter into the darkness from whence she came with an audible set of clanking.

Within the blink of an eye Zelda had reared back to pin herself up against the metal once again, cringing for the attention she knew it would draw—that it must draw—and hoping it would not be her undoing. She heard the grunt of surprise behind her, and the shifting of iron as it drew closer, a dangerous weight thumping down with every step.

_Just pass, Nayru's mercy, just pass me by..._

Zelda watched the Iron Knuckle's silhouette roll along the brick before her, and she would watch him turn to stride into the next corridor at last, keen to investigate the noise. He came so close she felt the breeze as his bulk passed by, crystalline eyes shut tight in hope. The guard was quicker in his pace, seemingly eager to find a highlight to his day, but again the Princess found little time to wonder of the true nature such beasts may hold as he disappeared behind brick.

It took most of her willpower to thaw herself from the frosty trepidation that stuck her there, but pushing herself up upon bare feet, she would launch herself from the statue's side and tear toward the doors with abandon. She did not look back, barely opening her eyes enough to judge the distance travelled as her world focussed desperately upon the brass handles before her. Shaking hands shot to them before she had even stopped, her weight thrown forward as the latch came free and shimmying through the tiniest gap she had left herself yet.

Zelda spun quickly on her heel to slam palms against the other side of the wood, pushing them closed without fear for the darkness that greeted her and leaning against them as if to keep a demon out. Fingertips traced brass to find the locking bar, sliding it into place quickly and hoping the guard had not heard any of it from the hall beyond. The flurry of motion ceased as the Princess finally began to back away from the entrance, panting heavily now that she had room enough to breathe.

The air was musty on her tongue, tasting of history and ink and dust as the scent of parchment grew strong, no longer a phantom to taunt her. She turned slowly, only able to make out the shapes of the aisles and a grand staircase under the unlit frame of a chandelier. Marbled stone was cold beneath her toes only a moment before the familiar feel of carpet was returned to her. In the darkness she smiled, finally allowing the laughter to slip free with both disbelief and joy, her body still twitching with adrenaline.

She had done it.

In private celebration, the Princess twirled with arms outstretched, giggling with relief as her feet took her further onto the runner. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to simply collapse onto the plush leather of a reading chair, curling up in a world that felt safe and secure; echoing her childhood. How long she had spent here, whiling away the hours with the pages of fiction and fact alike... by memory, she had already taken toward a section, plucking the lantern from the side of the shelf and twisting the flint key to spark.

A dim orange glow soon filled the aisle warmly, illuminating with promise the spines of many titles—Zelda couldn't help but indulge, running her fingers across the first few she could simply to affirm the reality of it. A greedy shiver washed through her to spread a smile across icy lips as she moved through them, eyeing off several tomes to gain some inspiration for where to start.

The Princess already knew most of what the archives offered on the Gerudo of the last era, and barring familiarity with their dialect, she knew there would be little more to find of them. As for history, she was as well versed as any scholar; more so, one might dare say. But she was aware of her grandfather's censorship surrounding the civil war, and the Great Unification. While there were certainly things history had glossed over, here was not the place to find them.

Surely, for the time spent in her family's court, there would be an autobiography of some description concerning the King of Thieves as he was known then?

But having wandered toward such a selection, Zelda found her hopes dashed. It struck her that much of the information about Ganondorf had been removed after his treasonous intentions were exposed—while once he may have garnered such an honour, having disgraced himself, it was unlikely her family would retain his memoirs in any form, if he had them.

Her father had himself been of the firm opinion that 'a criminal is unworthy of royal ink', and 'scribes are not employed to document the endeavours of scoundrels'.

How she cursed such short sightedness now.

Over the course of an hour, the Princess would pluck many tomes from the shelves, perusing each for any hint of her captor. Skimming through the pages, her enthusiasm had dwindled greatly, either turning up nothing or more of what she already knew. Footnotes, accounts, the very mention of his name would do, as long as it gave some clue as to unravel the man further.

While no sign of the Gerudo's biography or a memoir could be traced, Zelda instead began to chase his presence in the stories of others—her forth great grandfather had once claimed in him a personal friend and advisor. Entire sections had been edited or erased, where the King of the West was concerned, and she noted especially that no detail of the drafted treaties between Hyrule and the Desert remained to be examined. While Zelda was very much aware of their failure, and much of the events surrounding such things, it did strike her as odd—perhaps even a little worrying—that such a vast chunk of history had been effectively wiped from record.

She thumbed through one volume of works set in the field of anthropology, studying the Gerudo culture in a time before the war—it made many mentions of the laws concerning Kings, and the belief structure surrounding their superstitions, but the only note of Ganondorf was to made made of him in infancy.

Zelda wandered along with those works in hand, gleaning what she could of his cultural customs in curiosity. She could certainly use a few of them to her advantage, if she were sly about it—she made a mental note of bearing one's wrists as a sign of trust and a show of humility in particular. When she came across the rather sparse section on Gerudo marriages, however, her interest petered away once again; even this was of no real use to her, it seemed.

Snapping the tome shut with a sigh, she would negligently tuck it back improperly in a random shelf beside her, the sting of defeat nestling into her belly. In an old habit, she would lift her thumb to her mouth, chewing upon the nail with a pensive frown.

For one of the most infamous criminal in recent Hyrulian history, documents on the Gerudo King were almost as elusive as the drafts of an unknown playwright.

_One of the richest libraries this side of Holodrum, and hardly a footnote to be found... How is that even possible?_

Zelda's attention wandered to the side of her, holding up the lantern to squint at as a few familiar title caught her eye. Sidetracked, it seemed she had ghosted a path she had taken often in younger years, guided by unconscious memory toward a small collection of romantic prose. Delicate brows furrowed as an old favourite seemed to suddenly appear, gold leaf script catching the camber of the light to shimmer.

Curious as to how far her tastes had grown, and perhaps a little nostalgic, the Princess would offer the book a fey and knowing smile.

"It's been quite a long time since I saw you last, hasn't it, old friend?" she whispered sardonically, amusing herself for the moment. "Is the duke still as handsome as ever?"

With a wry chuckle to herself, Zelda would pluck it lazily from its place, eyeing the worn red of the cover as she moved to set the lantern down upon a side table. Cradling it in the crook of her arm, the pages were flipped through carelessly, her attention finally settling on a random paragraph from the middle of the tale. An airless titter hummed in her throat for what she found.

_...Oh yes, I **definitely** spent far too much time on this garbage..._

It had been secreted away between the covers of far more important tomes to her development during adolescence, driving many tutors to distraction. It was not particularly well written, but whilst young and naïve, it was hard not to indulge in even the most mediocre tales when star crossed lovers and secret trysts were to be had. It certainly brightened many hours of studying, once the Princess had outgrown her ability to 'innocently' abscond from such lessons.

Fantasies of a tall and handsome duke, dark eyes swirling with mystery, didn't exactly go astray either.

But distracted as she was by the memory of such things, gaze skimming the words with leisure, the Princess did not register the feeling of being watched. With the light source beside her, there would be no shadow to warn.

Only the heavy pressure of corded muscle brought down upon her, taking her by surprise as the print became a blur, suddenly replaced by the wood of the side table as Zelda found herself pinned against it. A gasp hitched as the air was forced from her lungs, her shock and confusion mounting as the lantern was knocked aside to the floor, clattering to douse the light and limit her vision to an unforgiving black.

The novella that betrayed her fell uselessly through limp fingers as instinct beckoned she struggle, but within seconds, she found it futile—whatever beast had caught her here was as unmovable as a mountain, and she cursed herself for not being as vigilant of the Iron Knuckle since stirring his suspicions.

Unable to do more, the Princess would allow herself to cooperate within the hold, wincing as a large hand pressed down against the side of her head. From the corner of her eye she peered blindly past her shoulder, straining in the dark to see as she attempted to lift her cheek from the table even slightly.

That was when it rumbled low behind her—a dark chuckle that chilled her very blood to hear and sent crystalline eyes wide with panic.

"Out for a late night stroll, Princess?"

_He _was here. He was here in the castle, and he had caught her out of her tower red handed.

_Oh, Gods above, no..._

Squeezing her eyes shut, she cringed for not considering that possibility before. With his only interactions with her based solely through a mirror, Zelda had divorced herself from the idea that he was actually there in person. He styled himself a King before he was a conqueror, after all, and by any standard of protocol she knew to think of, there was no reason why she would not expect him to visit her in the flesh. It dawned on her too late that this, too, was perhaps just another means to isolate her.

In fact, he had never given her any evidence to his absence at all, though circumstance would suggest it.

Her whole body tensed as she felt him shift to draw closer, his breath warm on the back of her neck, and all at once Zelda felt overwhelmed by such a presence. Were she not pinned, she would surely have recoiled, simply to put as much distance between them as possible.

"Sneaking past my guards like that..." he clicked his tongue to chide, shaking his head lightly beside pointed ear. "I suppose you think yourself clever?"

Shifting uncomfortably beneath his forearm, the Princess would lick her lips, mustering up some of the courage she'd built up against him thus far—a difficult task, now that he was in the same room. More difficult still while he held her, quite literally, in the palm of his hand.

"N-not at all..." she started quietly, so as not to reveal the quiver of fear in her voice. "They're as blind as keese. A drunken fool in the streets would have an equal chance of slipping by them."

Such bravery in the face of certain punishment was an admirable effort on her part, but as the Gerudo shifted his weight again to double the pressure, regret was all the Princess would be rewarded with. Crushing down upon her back, Zelda gasped in pain at first, and then again when she noted a new struggle to breathe at all; ragged and desperate gulps taken as her panic heightened.

"Sarcasm is an unbecoming trait for a _prisoner._" the smirk he wore was audible as it curved around his words, amused in truth by such a remark—the last incarnation was not such a shrew, though he found the banter a refreshing change from her ancestor's rhetoric.

Twisting thick fingers into her hair, the Gerudo relished the squeak of discomfort she made as his wrist flicked, pulling her head back in order to cut off any more smart remarks. He could hear her seething, sucking stilted breath through a clenched jaw as she struggled to hide her pain. Both were well aware that he could snap her feeble bones with a well times jerk of his hand, if he so chose, and still the woman chose to trade barbs. Her venom was not particularly potent, but even so, her gall surprised him.

_Then again_, he conceded privately, _even tame creatures are known to bite when cornered._

Zelda did not fall for the rise. Glaring up from the corner of her eye, she found the bitter silence a more commanding expression than anything else she presently had to offer.

A scoff sounded by her ear, unimpressed, and when Ganondorf spoke again, none of his previous amusement showed. "But I will take the... constructive criticism on board. I will _personally_ see to it that the rather egregious oversights in security are remedied immediately. Now..." he paused, bearing his teeth to hiss into her ear with a far more sinister timbre. "What _exactly _do you think it is you're doing so far from your tower?"

A growl crept across the tail end of it, demanding the correct answer, and the Princess did not miss it.

Biting the inside of her cheek as the first spell of dizziness began to take hold, she knew she couldn't tell him the truth—just because he wished to torment her with the sight of her fallen Kingdom, didn't mean he could not find a way to do that while she lay chained within a dungeon. Zelda's mind raced as her lungs began to burn, desperate to find a suitable reason and without any time to think of one.

Either she was going to suffocate beneath his bulk, or her spine was going to give way.

"R-reading... material..." she managed with a ragged gasp, her voice now unable to hide the strain of her position. "I've... f-finished all of the... books in my chambers, I-" a painful cough, "-have nothing m-more to... occupy myself.. with...!"

A grunt behind her signalled his disbelief, and she knew it was flimsy at best. Incredulous, the Gerudo would sneer in the corner of her vision. "You honestly expect me to believe you've gone to such length, all for something to read...?"

Cruelly, he increased the pressure even further, and a pained cry tore away from her throat as Zelda felt her shoulder pop with a sickening crack. She wasn't even sure how her body was managing to hold up under this kind of brutality, but as the man seethed through clenched teeth, through the haze she felt his grip twist forcefully into her hair.

"Do not _lie_ to me!" there was the thunder of the storm again, riding low to shake her bones.

But Wisdom worked quickly to aid her, and the hoarse whisper left her lips before she could stop herself, utilising the only trump card she had to lend herself credibility.

"N-no, please...!" she cried out despairingly now, uncaring of how it may sound. "D-down, look down! The book I wa-as read...ing...!" the very last of the air in her left her lips with the plea, and silently she prayed that he would look. Even a moment's mercy in distraction to gulp down another breath was all she could think of now.

Still suspicious of her claims, the Gerudo's features would knit quickly into a fearsome scowl, irritated that she would think him foolish enough to buy such drivel at first. But then, as he took stock of her position and the sheer terror now unveiled in her voice, his curiosity caught him to humour her. Golden eyes narrowed, his gaze slowly dropping toward the ground in search of the book, easily spotting despite the darkness. His night vision was clearly far superior to hers, a moment of concentration revealing the title as he brought it closer with the tip of his boot.

The scowl lessened into bemusement when indeed it was nothing of concern—romantic fiction, in fact, judging by a cursory scan of open pages. To Zelda's great relief, his weight shifted enough to afford her the ability to breathe once more, though it was out of no mercy on his part. Caught off guard and distracted, Ganondorf had moved to pluck the novel up from the ground, now casually leaning upon her back rather than anything as he studied the book further.

"...She shivered under his touch, as the moonlight caught upon the chiselled frame he bore... sending shocks of desire through her as she moaned... his name..." trailing off, clearly unimpressed with her choices in literature, the Gerudo would end on a tight lipped grimace to eye her rather quizzically.

She must've been utterly daft to waste such an opportunity on trash like this.

"...Perhaps you truly have been cooped up for too long, alone." he conceded quietly, musing more to himself with a dismissive frown and snapping the offensive thing shut.

Though the Princess hoped the dark would hide it, a violent blush had taken place upon her cheeks—the tale was hardly tasteful enough for bedside drawers, let alone being read aloud for her added shame. Still, it seemed he had accepted her excuse for the moment... albeit with newly formed misconceptions.

Golden eyes swept her again, his mind still reeling to accept the absurdity of it—he surmised however that, even were this the unlikely truth, a moment of lucidity would've caught her soon enough. There were far more worrying things to find her reading within the vast wealth of knowledge these archives contained. No harm had been done as yet; simply a close call that would not be allowed for again.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity of agony, the Gerudo's arm would shift to release her. Bereft of the strength to stand, the Princess sank instead to her knees, slipping from the table to hold her hand to her chest and pant. She could feel him watching her every move in the darkness, and without the courage to speak further, Zelda chose instead to hide her face from such scrutiny.

He had gleaned more than enough weakness from her already, she simply refused to face him—not with the pallid expression of fear currently etched into her features.

A resounding click echoed out into the air behind her; snapping fingers the only warning before the prickle of magic swept her skin. The calm was broken by a sudden roar like a whirlwind, casting the room into a blurry haze as it began to strip away, piece by piece. Shutting her eyes to the eerie vision of the world disintegrating before her, dizziness came flooding back, her bearings lost to the sound and sensation as nausea stirred in her stomach.

Then all at once the silence returned, and she grew aware of stable ground beneath her knees. Lashes fluttered open to adjust to brighter surrounds, the scent of parchment stolen to be replaced with dank brickwork and an icy chill. She needn't even look around to recognise it, realising she had been returned to the tower.

The heavy sound of a boot stepping forward behind her drew a small flinch before a negligent toss cast the novel into her vision, skidding to a halt before her as its pages settled open.

"Keep the spoils of your effort." he rumbled richly with a wave of his hand, apathetic as to its contents. "Rest assured, I will not be disturbing you this evening, so feel free to enjoy your... _simple pleasures_."

Even as he moved to leave, the heat returned to her cheeks with a vengeance as Zelda gladly counted the steps taken toward her doors. "Thank you." was all she managed in response, hastily slipping from her lips as a small squeak.

Inclining her head to watch him leave, the Princess would see him pause to rest a hand upon the handle, not bothering to look back as he addressed her once more.

"I suggest you take your time." he offered calmly, a slight accent swimming in the quiet tone. "Because the next sojourn you take to find reading material, Princess, will see you returned here without _feet._"

Barely able to hold it in before the latch of her doors clicked to close, shoulders slumped to release a shaken sigh as a shudder rolled freely from her abused spine. The dull ache in her shoulder would cost her the good night's rest she sorely needed after this ordeal, but glancing toward the novel, Zelda's hand shot out to snatch it up greedily. As if the familiarity she held would provide comfort, she clutched it gratefully to her chest, silently grateful for the find now that it had saved her an otherwise severe punishment.

Never in all her days had the Princess suspected her fate would ride on some worn out romantic fiction.

But with a mind still racing and a heart fast pumping in her chest, the notion brought an awful epiphany to the forefront of her thoughts...

Perhaps the fate of Hyrule could be swayed by such a thing as well.


End file.
